


I Am Not Obsessed!

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-28
Updated: 2006-03-28
Packaged: 2018-08-15 16:56:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8064634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Parody of 2.09 "Singularity." (11/26/2002)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: I think I've figured it out. A reasonable assumption to make for the future: If the promo sounds really good ("A Night in Sickbay"), chances are the episode won't stack up. And the reverse. This was a great episode! It fit the ensemble cast well, it was hilarious, and overall kept me entertained. Fave line: "CARROTS!" Plus, no Lame Alien of the Week With Funny Forehead. That in itself is a vast improvement. I'd even settle for the Suliban again if they never saw another funny forehead. This was a decent reinterpretation of the "Psi 2000 virus" storyline without going over the top or flat-out copying the previous (actually, I don't think I've even seen the TNG version).  


* * *

### Teaser Thingie

August 14, 2152: Now, this may be nitpicking, but as I recall (and I _do_ recall, because I've seen the pilot 4 or 5 times, and I remember writing this down somewhere for future reference) the _Enterprise_ set out on its mission around April 16, 2151. Just a few episodes ago, "Carbon Creek," they go on about T'Pol celebrating a year anniversary. Did they travel through a time-wormhole or something? Where did these several months inexplicably disappear to? Does it even matter? Am I just being a little anal for bringing it up?

So, everyone's about to die. Nice way to set up an episode. Except poor lonely T'Pol. Weird thing, which isn't really funny, but I can't think of anything else to say here, is that I just read about this discovery. Apparently, scientists found a galaxy with two black holes that are slowly merging. Okay, so it doesn't really apply. But it's neat.

### Act 1

_T'Pol introduces the disturbing fact that everyone's going to die. Will she be able to maintain the show's ratings all on her own? Well, it depends on how much clothing she wears, I suppose. Now, flashback!_

T'Pol: I am creating this log so Starfleet knows what happened. For expository purposes, we entered a trinary system with a black hole and everything went screwy. Oh, yes, and a Vulcan ship is 9 days away.

_Flashback:_

Archer: So, it's a black hole?

T'Pol: Yes, in a trinary star system. That means three.

Archer: I thought Vulcans don't care about these things.

T'Pol: It's science. What else do they have to care about?

Archer: Hmm. How close can we get before we get irrevocably sucked in?

T'Pol: Hard to say. We might be able to get within 5 million kilometers. But that's just a guesstimate.

Trip: Then we could take some purdy pictures.

T'Pol: You won't see anything. It's black.

Trip: That's okay. I'm not a very good photographer.

Archer: Okey-doke. Hey, Trip?

Trip: Yo?

Archer: You wanna fix my chair for me?

Trip: Your...chair?

Archer: Yeah, the big one right over there.

Trip: What's wrong?

Archer: Well, to put it plainly, it sucks.

Trip: And this is the first you've mentioned of it?

Archer: Well, you know, I've been busy. Battling off aliens, traveling through time.

Trip: T'Pol doesn't have a problem with it.

Archer: She's not the captain, is she?

Trip ( _mumbles_ ): There's ways of fixin' that.

Archer: Just do it.

Trip: I _was_ gonna purge the impulse manifolds.

Archer: I thought you were doing that while Malcolm and I were on that planet last week.

Trip: I was, up till you got caught and hanged and I had to screw around with an alien ship. Part o' my hand's still missin', you know.

Archer: That's too bad. My chair is more important than preventing the ship from blowing up.

Trip: Whatever. I'll start on it right away. ( _starts to leave bridge_ )

Archer: Where you going? The chair's right here.

Trip ( _stops_ ): Oh, yeah.

_Ready Room, or possibly Archer's Quarters, I still mix those up:_

T'Pol: Good morning.

Archer: How do you know?

T'Pol: That it's good?

Archer: What's going on?

T'Pol: Duty roster. I've placed you on janitorial duties, deck W, today.

Archer: Okay, fine.

T'Pol: Lt. Reed has a lame suggestion for you. Something about guns, no doubt.

Archer: Whoopee.

T'Pol: Chef called in sick. He's ill.

Archer ( _worried_ ): How will we eat?!

T'Pol: Ensign Sato has offered to cook.

Archer: _Can_ she cook? What if we need something translated?

T'Pol: She spends her free time in the galley, apparently. She enjoys making pineapple cake.

Archer: I guess it's okay. Will she sing? I like it when Chef sings to us.

T'Pol: If you don't approve, we'll starve.

Archer: Oh. Can I ask you something?

T'Pol: No.

Archer: I have to write a preface for my dad's biography. I don't know why they had to pick me...Could you read it?

T'Pol: I'd be happy to.

Archer: That's odd. Isn't happiness an emotion?

T'Pol: It's a figure of speech. I wouldn't actually be happy to, anyway. Where is it?

Archer: Oh, I haven't even started yet. I was supposed to get it back to them before we left, but things were a bit hectic back then.

T'Pol ( _totally straight-faced_ ): Well, get cracking, mister.

Archer ( _whines_ ): I don't know what to say. Can you write it for me?

T'Pol: I don't think so.

Archer: But I'm too lazy! I've got Captaining to do! Hmm, Malcolm likes to write things. Maybe he can do it. I'll just ask him to write something about me. It'll apply. You know how much he admires me, right?

_T'Pol rolls her eyes, leaves._

_In Galley:_

"Redshirt" Waiter: Chef was going to make chicken and potatoes with that crazy spinach.

Hoshi: Good for Chef. I'm making what _I_ want. Too bad if the crew hates it. I'll use my grandmother's recipe, which I conveniently programmed into the computer for just such an occasion when I could rightfully take my place as Master Chef.

RSW: Hey, wouldn't it be cool if we played an Iron Chef competition? We could get Shatner to host and everything!

Hoshi: Shatner? Who's that?

_Sickbay:_

Phlox is meticulously making medicine by hand, since he gave away all the high-tech stuff. Made from fresh Batty Guano!

Travis: Hey, doc. My head hurts.

Phlox: I'll be right with you.

Travis: Can't you just give a couple aspirin and I'll call you in the morning? I'm busy doing important helmsman duties.

Phlox: That would be irresponsible.

Travis: What? Doctors do it all the time. They got a deal running with the pharmacists so everybody makes more money.

Phlox: I'm not making any money here. Well, it's good you came. I've been meaning to check up on you about those neural implants. Been so busy, what with that dog and holding my potlatch and everything, I plumb forgot...

Travis: Hey, what's with the continuity? Do you think that has something to do with my head hurting?

Phlox: Could be, since they were fused to your head.

Travis: Weird, man.

Phlox: Or, it could be nothing.

Travis: Good.

Phlox: Or...it could be some horribly life-threatening disease that will kill you in seconds. The possibilities are fascinatingly staggering!

Travis ( _concerned_ ): Which do you think it is?

Phlox: Probably the latter. Otherwise, there'd be no point in having the cameras here. After all, who cares about a routine visit to the doctor, hmm? Nobody cares about check-ups!

Bridge:

Actual captioning here: "Power tool whirring loudly"

T'Pol: Commander. ( _says several times, which I won't type here_ )

Trip: Huh?

T'Pol: That's bothering the hell out of me. Why don't you go purge the impulse manifolds or something?

Trip: Cap'n's orders.

T'Pol: He ordered you to bother me?

Trip ( _mischievous_ ): Yes.

T'Pol: My hearing is sensitive.

Trip: It's cause they're pointy, innit?

T'Pol: Yes. Please stop.

Trip: Huh. ( _resumes noise_ )

T'Pol considers ripping plug out of wall, or at least Trip's head from body, but leaves instead.

Armory:

Strangely, Malcolm's hair looks normal. It grew back fast.

Archer: So, whatchu want?

Reed: Oh! Captain! I want to create a warning system with flashing lights and annoying warning sounds. I have a novel-length report I've been working on about it. Can I read it to you?

Archer: Um, no thanks.

Reed: So, what do you think?

Archer: Terrific. Ask me again later.

Reed: Aye, sir.

Archer: And give it a snazzy name. If the name's cool enough, I'll accept it.

Mess hall, dinnertime:

Hoshi: You like it? I'm thinking of changing careers. In case Chef dies.

Reed: Condition Red? How's that?

Trip: What?

Reed: For my security system. If I come up with a good name, the Captain will approve it.

Trip: Why don't you just use the terms the military on Earth have been usin' for years?

Reed: It has to be special.

Trip: Well, you better get som'un better than "Condition Red." How 'bout a cupholder?

Reed: "A Cupholder?" As a name for the security system? That doesn't even make sense.

Trip: Naw, for the Cap'n's chair.

Reed: That's great. All he needs is a place to rest his beverage in a crisis.

Trip: If he's got hot coffee, and he spills it in his lap, yeah, that would be important. I'm also puttin' in status displays. He'll have tactical reports right at his chair.

Reed: That'll make my job obsolete.

Trip: Too bad. This is more fun than your "Reed Alert," anyway.

Reed: "Reed Alert?" That's good. Maybe I'll call it that. Or how about "Condition Reed?"

Trip: Sounds like a disease.

Hoshi: Hi, you like my food? It's my grandmother's recipe.

Reed ( _mumbles to self_ ): Tastes like it.

Trip: Sure, terrific.

Reed: It was great.

Hoshi: You didn't even touch it.

Reed: Of course I did.

Hoshi: I'll get you more.

Reed: No thanks. Actually, it was too salty.

Hoshi: Too _salty_! There isn't even _any_ salt in it! Screw you! You're eating it! Now! ( _shoves bowl in his face, stuffs down throat_ )

Reed: Gak, gurgle.

Hoshi: You like it _now_ , Brit-boy?

( _A/N: This scene, of course, will become fodder for Hoshi-Malcolm fanfics. Heck, I'm going to use it! Well, the_ real _scene, not this version._ )

Sickbay:

Travis: Um, what are you doing to me?

Phlox: Nothing much. Just a lobomoty.

Travis: But I have work to do!

Phlox: Never mind that! I have experiments to run, and you're the perfect sample!

Archer's Quarters:

_Archer is rambling on about his father._

Porthos: Woof! I'm bored! ( _aren't we_ all _here?_ )

Archer continues to ramble.

Porthos: Woof!

Archer: Shut up!

Porthos ( _sadly goes to his pillow and looks sad. And cute):_ He's trying to starve me to death here. He hasn't even noticed me since I got that chameleon brain. I wonder why.

( _A/N: For those of you who wouldn't believe this otherwise, he's not_ really _talking. The dog, I mean. It's dramatic effect._ )

### Act 2

_More crazy goings-on. It gets even better, folks! (At least the original does, anyway)_

T'Pol's quarters, although they don't look anything like I remember them from past episodes:

Trip: Here's your metal briefcase. You gonna play 007 or som'un?

T'Pol: Thank you. I also need your help with this scientific stuff.

Trip: Aren't _you_ the science officer?

T'Pol: Presumably. But I'm also better at everyone else's jobs than they are.

Trip: Well, I'm busy. The cap'n's chair is sittin' down in engineerin', so that's where I'll be.

T'Pol: Are you all right, Commander?

Trip: What makes you think I'm not?!

T'Pol: You aren't wearing that precocious, boyishly handsome grin as usual.

Trip: You miss it, huh? I'm tryin' out my tough guy look. Maybe I'll beat up Malcolm later.

T'Pol: You could try beating me up.

Trip ( _looks worried_ ): Uh...gee! The cap'n's charir is waitin'!

Sickbay:

Travis: Man, what am I gonna do? I need to go on duty!

Phlox: Don't move, Ensign. I haven't completed my tests.

Travis: But I'll be late for duty! I can't be late! I'll be lax in my duty!

Phlox: Sit down. I haven't extracted any organs yet. I think a kidney will be a good place to start, don't you? There's two, so I get a second chance if I screw up...

Travis: The captain will be mad at me! He'll, he'll kick me off the show! I can just feel it! Everyone hates me! They'd love to see me gone!

Phlox: The crew doesn't hate you.

Travis: Not the crew! The fans! Can't you see them out there?!

Phlox: Ahh. Let me give you something for the...headache.

Travis: Oh. Okay, then.

Phlox zaps him out with a knock-out chemical, the medical name of which is escaping me at the moment. Anaesthetic? Is that it?

Travis: Wow, I was pretty gullible there, wasn'tâ€”

Phlox: Hee, hee. I'll carve you like a Thanksgiving turkey! ( _ties Travis down to bio-bed with impenetrable Velcro straps_ )

( _A/N: I really liked this scene, especially the bug-eyed, "I could be court-martialed!"_ )

Engineerin':

Reed: I've got some shrill alarms to try out on you.

Trip: You mean, just to irritate me, or what?

Reed: For my security system.

Trip: Oh, the "Reed Alert?"

Reed: Yes, well, I changed it. It sounds a bit, well, I don't really want my name the thing everyone associates with this.

Trip: Sure.

Reed: Try these on for size: Which do you prefer, Annoying Sound #1 or Annoying Sound #2? ( _glass breaks, or, if there isn't glass, at least transparent aluminum or something_ )

Trip: Maybe you should go back to the drawing board on that one.

Reed: I'd also like you to help with out with the GPS grid. Whatever that is. Does that mean "Global Positioning System?" If so, it doesn't make much sense in outer space.

Trip: I'm a little busy right now.

Reed ( _scoffs_ ): Busy. At least _I'm_ doing something productive.

Galley:

Hoshi ( _stirring pot maniacally_ ): Must make perfect for anal retentive Malcolm.

RSW: Um, don't you think you should feed people? ( _Sidenote: Why isn't the Redshirt obsessed by whatever obsesses redshirts?_ )

Hoshi: Maybe I'll make something with pineapples. He'll be all over me then.

RSW: You realize you look like a witch with her cauldron, right?

Hoshi: Get me pineapples!

RSW: What? What for?

Hoshi: PINEAPPLES!!

RSW: Umâ€”

Hoshi: You're relieved!

RSW: Actually, I'm not. I'm still feeling really uncomfortable here.

Hoshi: Go out with the crew!

RSW: But they're all hungry. That's like a death sentence for me. Don't you see the red on my collar?

Hoshi: Go!

RSW is never seen again. It's okay. It's not like we learned his name or anything.

_Armory:_

T'Pol: Lt. Reed, will youâ€”

Reed: Ah!

T'Pol: Whatâ€”

Reed: Stop! Who are you!

T'Pol: I am Subcommander T'Pol.

Reed: But how do I _know_? You could be an imposter.

T'Pol: An imposter.

Reed: Didn't you ever watch _Star Trek_? They had imposters on the ship about every other week.

T'Pol: Then how will I prove my identity to you?

Reed: Some sort of kissing might be required.

T'Pol: I need your help doing something technical in my quarters. Commander Tucker told me to get someone else to help me get my name immortalized in the Vulcan databases. That's you.

Reed: In your _quarters_? Now, what would Commander Tucker _not_ want to do in your quarters?

T'Pol: Lt., is that a sidearm, or are you just happy to see me?

Reed: A little of both, I'm afraid.

T'Pol ( _all alone_ ): The crew was becoming consumed by trivial matters. ( _security is a trivial matter? No wonder they have a show. Of course, it'd be kinda boring if they saw a ship, RED ALERT!, oh, never mind, it's nothing. Run credits_ )

Engineering:

Archer: Let me read you something.

Trip: It's not Malcolm's security proposal, is it?

Archer: Uh...no. It's about my father.

Trip: Oh. All right. Here, stand still.

Archer: Wait a minute. Isn't that a phase pistol?

Trip ( _innocently_ ): This? Why, no.

Archer: Okay. "The legacy of a man is measuredâ€”

_zapzap_

Archer: That only took 2 minutes. You said it was 6 minutes.

T'Pol: I lied.

Trip (wakes up as soon as the trouble's over): Uh...what happened? Oh, well, at least I'm not naked.

### Epilogue

Phlox: How do you feel?

Travis: Good. The headache's gone. What'd you do?

Phlox: Just took a little off the top, so to speak.

Archer: So, Doc, what happened?

Phlox: I'll let you know. Later.

Reed: You wanted to see me, Captain?

Archer: I did. But not anymore.

Reed: Okay. (turns to leave)

Archer: Your security protocols really saved our ass! Even when you're off your rocker, you still have the best ideas of the whole crew!

Reed: That's because I'm British, sir.

Archer: But make it sound prettier. A little light jazz might be more pleasant.

Reed: Aye, sir.

A few days later. Vulcan ship shows up.

Vulcan: Is there a problem? We received an urgent scary distress call.

Archer: Oh, that! Yeah, that was nothing, we took care of it days ago!

Vulcan: Okay. (leaves)

Bridge:

Trip: Check out your brand-new chair!

Archer: It looks exactly the same.

Trip: Not enough money in the budget to change it. But it's totally different. Try it.

Archer: Okay. (he tries it) It's...much better.

Trip: Great! I'll start on the games and the cupholderâ€”

Archer: No, no, it's fine.

Trip: Um...okay. (leaves)

Archer (commenting to no one in particular): Actually, it's even worse than before.


End file.
